


and the blood (won't dry)

by Marked_by_moonlight



Series: Kingdom of Ash and Snow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Sansa Stark, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Child Loss, Courting Rituals, Cousin Incest, Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Graphic Description, Incest, Medieval Medicine, Miscarriage, Not Canon Compliant, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Past Violence, Politics, R Plus L Equals J, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rickon Stark Lives, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything, Theon Greyjoy Lives, Tragedy, Travel, Triggers, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marked_by_moonlight/pseuds/Marked_by_moonlight
Summary: Sansa Stark escapes from Ramsay Bolton, and rallies the North to her cause..She finds some unexpected allies along the way
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Kingdom of Ash and Snow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821088
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	and the blood (won't dry)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own asoiaf or got. Don't sue me!
> 
> Also, cousin incest is gross, and Jon and Sansa r gonna suffer bc of it, fair warning. This won't really be a smooth journey. There will be pain, and angst, and graphic stuff mentioned/talked about/discussed.
> 
> if you don't like it, don't read it.
> 
> This will, eventually, be a time travel fic. So here's to all the Jonsa shippers reading TNR. I hope you enjoy!

She is lying in a pool of her own dried blood when Theon enters, he is unaccompanied by Ramsay, a thin dress and a cloak the color of ash are thrown over his left arm. He approaches her with hurried footfalls, reaching for her hand to tug her off the bed. 

“We have to go, Sansa. We need to leave. He’ll kill us both if we stay here.” Pleads Theon. 

Sansa nods wearily and sits at the edge of the bed, wincing when she tears open a barely healed scar. Theon slips the dress over her thin shoulders, and ties it’s strings tight. The cloak and gloves come next, and then her father’s former ward does something unexpected, he removes the boots from his own feet and slips them onto hers.

She whispers her thanks as they leave the room, and then falls silent, pressing her wounded body against the stone to try to meld into the shadows. Their pace is slow, Theon’s hand gripped in hers, as they flee from the monster that has taken over her home.

She breathes a sign of relief when they finally slip out past the gates and into the growing darkness. They walk for ages, slipping into the treeline and out of sight of the castle. The snow swirls thicker as they run, weaving between the trees and dodging snow drifts to outrun the baying hounds. 

Sansa’s breath curls out from her like smoke from a dragon, puffing out into the air to swirl with the small flakes that flitter on the wind. The muscles in her legs burn as she forces herself to run faster. Ramsay cannot catch her, she’d sooner kill herself than go back to being that man’s wife. The hounds baying trails off somewhere to the right, and they stop short when they come to a half frozen river.

Theon stops her, a hand on her arm.

“Sansa, you have to go north, to Castle Black, to Jon. He’ll keep you safe. Go North, Sansa. Only North.”

With that, Theon turns to lead the hounds away, leaving Sansa to cross a river studded with ice floes. She takes a running leap into the water, the freezing current reaching up to her chest, seeping into the open wounds on her back. She knows that her fingertips are likely blue under the leather of her gloves, and prays to all the Gods that her fingers will not have to be amputated due to the frostbite. 

In the hours that follow, her dress freezes solid and her teeth ache from chattering. Her pace has slowed, her weakened body unable to keep up such a grueling pace. She hasn’t heard the hounds for hours, but still she runs. 

The snow is falling heavier now, in thick white sheets, blanketing her vision and blinding her to the way North. She pauses to catch her breath against the frozen bark of an oak tree, and stumbles down beneath the fallen tree that provides some shelter from the wind and snow. 

The darkness of sleep takes her before she even shuts her eyes. 

\-----

When she wakes, she spends a few moments watching the snow drift down around her in soft flakes, and then shovels cold, crystalized snow into her mouth and down into her growling stomach. Her right hand reaches up to the tree trunk to steady herself, her body groans in protest, and her partially healed wounds split open to weep more blood onto the snow. 

The sky is cloudy and grey, but the winter sun still shines weakly through from the East, guiding her way North, to Jon. 

\------

The journey takes it’s toll on her body, aching and wounded as she already is, the cold makes it worse. Her hands can barely hold still long enough to shovel wolf berries and snowmelt into her mouth. Most days she goes with only snowmelt in her belly, because anything else might kill her. She knows that the small, bright red berries that are the color of freshly spilt blood will do so painfully. 

——

After weeks in the wild north, after begging for shelter with small folk, she finally stands on the hill adjacent to Last Hearth, dressed in worn grey fabric, and stares at the white-blue wall of ice that seems to take up half the sky.

The Wall is all shades of blue, grey, white, like a winter rose in bloom. It spans the horizon and the very top is hidden by the low hanging winter clouds. The distance that spans between her hill and the Wall is immense, it will take her weeks to travel it. 

Suppressing a shiver, Sansa walks onward on aching legs that are now clothed in thick wool stockings, and prays that Ramsay does not find her. 

\------

It’s been at least a week since she stood atop the hill and stared at the Wall, and the weather has taken a turn for the worse. 

Snow and sleet drift down from the skies in thick white sheets, obscuring her vision. She’s been walking through snow drifts as high as her calves for the past fourteen hours, and her body is aching, begging her to stop, but Sansa knows that if she does, she’ll fall asleep and not wake up. Some dark part of her longs for it, longs for the embrace of cold and death, here in this world of quiet winter, surrounded by shades of whites and blacks and greys. There would be no more pain, no more blood, no more suffering. She would be at peace, at home, with her family. Winterfell would stand tall, unbroken and unburnt, the Winterfell of her childhood, all wrapped up in songs and warmth and sunlight. 

Her body gives out beneath her from exhaustion, her hands reaching out to catch herself, and Sansa feels the sting through her gloves from the impact. Her whole body shakes as she tries to stand, but she collapses back into the snow, like a deer felled by a hunter’s bow. 

Her vision blackens at the edges, and all she sees before she is consumed by the darkness is a wolf. A large black wolf, as big as the mountains of the moon, towering over her, a cloaked rider on its back.


End file.
